Sienna Sounds

This is the start of a much bigger story. It's a semi-fictional and based on some great memories. It's totally a working document and feedback is appreciated.

The speakers in my car are new and loud, but not loud enough. When I start a song, it has to be turned up, no matter where the volume is when I get in. My speakers always blow out and I’ve become a master at listening over the rough crackling bass lines so I don’t have to turn it down.

This love for noise probably came from the time I spent at band practice as a kid. Some of my first memories are of loud rock ‘n roll and an unmistakable pride in my talented young mom. Being the only kid at there, I knew what it was like to be in the center of attention. I’d run around, wildly beating on drums, laughing and flailing my arms. Then, a second later I’d be crashing to sleep on the couch a foot away from the plugged in Peavey amp with my mouth wide open and my dreams filled with distortion.

At the age of four, I’d watch her take the mic on a stage facing an entire party and thought she was the coolest. To me, these backyard barbecues with a makeshift stage covered in blue tarp, were huge venue concerts and I was on the VIP list. There are home videos that show me dancing around in a flowered bathing suit with a maraca in hand, marching back and forth as my mom belted out cover songs with her long-haired musician friends.

It must have been moments like these that led to my deep connection to loud music. Music means a lot more than a simple soundtrack. I believe that songs should be heard and certain lyrics or guitar solos can interrupt any conversation without a need for an apology.

She was so beautiful. Her voice so sturdy and clean " like an instrument. That was my mom and I was so proud of her. Who cares that my Daddy wasn’t around because my mom could sing.

Growing up, I shifted around from genre to genre, trying to figure out what my true musical taste really was. When I loved a song, it was clear because it touched me, and that’s the only way to describe it. Some songs just gave me that feeling. Like I could listen to it over and over and feel great all day. Sometimes I like the pretty songs like the ones that make my heart ache and muscles feel heavy. Songs with notes that wet my eyes, tickle my skin, make my heart race and my teeth clench. But one thing has always been true, the songs I yearn for most are the loud ones. I turn them up until my whole car rattles or my downstiars neighbors bang on  ceiling with a broom. Boom! Boom! A gesture that clearly means “turn it down”, but I always think they’re just drumming to the beat.

Like a drug, loud music invigorates and intoxicates me. I drive around town starring in an imaginary music video focusing on chord progressions while I relate the lyrics to my own life and the beats to my own heart. This all happens naturally, which is why my early childhood experiences seem so influential. This was what I learned, and so this is how I live.

“I’m here,” I say into the phone. “Which door should I go to?”

“Hey, we’ll be there soon. Just wait out front and I’ll find you.”

I remember the nips of rum I have hidden in my purse, and my heart is racing to see the band arrive and lead me in like I belong there.

I feel sexy in my tight new jeans and favorite black tank top, but my comfort level is not where I think it should be. I wish Sara was with me. We were both invited to show up at Chuck’s Square Diner for the Barkers show tonight, but of course her parents wouldn’t let her, and of course my dad thought I was safe at her house. I couldn’t pass up a chance to get into a 21+ show at 18.

“You can be our merch girl,” Zack had told me earlier in the week. “They’ll mark your hand so you won’t be able to drink, but you can stand near the stage and sell CD’s and s**t.”

My purse is a mess. I want a cigarette to make me look less desperate for my friend Zack and his band to show up. I thought it might help make me look more 21 and less nervous. I fiddle through my bag, trying to feel for the little square cardboard box but all I’m touching is crinkled up receipts and pieces of paper, my annoying collection of lip gloss and the hidden rum nips. I reach around some more until the pointy edges meet my touch and I pull a butt out of the pack.

S**t, I find myself with a cigarette in hand without a lighter or match. How amateaur can I be, I think.

I spot a handsome tattooed guy with a cutoff T-shirt smoking nearby. He’s chatting with a pretty girl with even tighter pants than mine and I wait until she walks away before I ask for help. This, again, reminds me that maybe I’m not as cool as I think I am.

“Hey, can I get a light?”

He turns to me and smiles, “Sure,” he says, “How old are you.”

Is this a trick? I remember my conversation with Zack. It’s going to be clear I’m underage, and I’m not even inside yet, so I should be fine. “Play it cool,” I say to myself.

“I’ll be 19 in a few months.” Rounding up seems like the best way to go.

“Really,” he laughs, “I thought this show was 21+. Not like you’re unwanted here,” he quickly adds.

“Yeah, I know. I’m friends with Zack. He’s in the band the Barkers. I’m helping them sell merch. I’m just waiting for them now,” I say, probably talking way too fast.

“No way. Cool. That’s the band I’m here to see. I know Zack. I’m Trevor’s cousin, the singer. They’re awesome. Maybe I’ll have to buy a sticker or something from you later,” he says, smiling. “I’m Jake, what’s your name?”

“Sienna,” I say as I put my cigarette out and squash it on the pavement with my chunky heeled boot. It’s getting dark but the air still feels muggy and I hope my makeup will stay in place.

Finally, a silver van pulls up. It parks close to the building and I’m thrilled to see familiar faces pop out. The members of The Barkers open the sliding door and all the guys, including Zack, rush out to carry the heavy equipment into the bar.

Chuck’s Square is an old diner that’s been renovated into a really cool club. It’s mostly a bar and music scene decorated with retro wall and ceiling art. It’s also part burger joint with just the right amount of grease to stink up your clothes even if you don’t order food.

“This is my friend Sienna, she’s selling merchandise for us tonight.” Trevor had to introduced me to the bouncer because Zack’s busy setting the band up at the stage.

“ID,” demands the not-so-scary bouncer. But the fact that I’m underage and uncertain of the situation makes me nervous anyway.

“No, she’s underage. Mark her hand up with an X. Zack set something up with Reggie for tonight.”

It’s loud in the entrance but I can hear the now-all-of-a-sudden-scary bouncer “beep beep” someone on his walkie-talkie.

“Alright, Reggie’s gonna  come down,” Trevor says, “He’ll show you where to go. I’ve gotta head up and help.”

The music hasn’t started yet  so I nod my head to the muffled music that’s coming from downstairs. It’s The Cult or The Smiths or the “The” somethings. I’m overwhelmed with the smell of greasy burgers and buttery buns and if I wasn’t so worked up, I’m sure my mouth would be watering.

“Reggie! This girl’s here. Trevor said he worked something out with you. Selling merch or something?”

Reggie and the bouncer boy both have greasy hair, unimpressive muscles and hipster tight pants, but the thought of me getting stuck down here in smelly burger-land and missing the show make me afraid of them.

He looks at me. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sahara right?” he asks?

“Close, Sienna.”

“How old are you?”

“18.”

“No prob. Come with me. Jasper, mark her hand up.”

Relief sets in immediately. I’m in the bar which means I’m cool. I’m ready to be the Barker merch girl. Whatever the hell that means.

Reggie takes me up to meet the bartender. With every step I take, the music gets louder and louder. So of course, my excitement is growing and I reach the top floor and look around at the lively crowd.

Everyone seems so relaxed, like they come here every night. I look over at the stage and see The Barkers setting up. They’re all moving around so quickly and seriously, plugging in chords, tuning strings and tapping on mics. “Check, check, 1, 2, 1, 2.” I love it, I feel like it’s the song before the songs.

“Hey Bob! Bob!” Reggie’s trying to get the bartender's attention.

He finally looks over. “What can I get you Reg?”

“Nothing now. I just want you to meet someone. This is Sienna, she’s a friend of the bands and she’s only here to help them sell s**t. No offence hun. We just can’t get caught serving minors, you know?”

“Of course! I’m here for the music.” I assure them and Reggie holds up the back of my hand.

“See?” he asks? “This X mean no drinks.”

“Got it Reg,” Bob says, “Well, there sweetie, is there anything else I can get you?

“A Red Bull,” I ask.

“You got it.”

Zack finishes setting up and introduces me to the rest of the band

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“And here’s your table,” he says pointing to a clumsy card table set up to the right of the stage. “We’ve got a box of CD’s, $12 a piece, and some T-shirts for $15.”

Everything is all set up and ready to sell. He shows me the cash box and gives me a bunch of one dollar bills in case I need to make change.

“Sweet! Thanks Zack! Hey, mind watching the table I have to hit up the bathroom.”

“Actually, I’ve gotta go finish tuning up, but, hey, wait,” he reaches toward a pretty blonde girl and drags her over. “This is Sam, Trevor’s girlfriend. She can keep watch for you whenever you need it,” he reassures me as he bolts toward the stage.

“Hi. I’m Sienna. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” she says, “Good to meet you too. Go ahead, go to the ladies room. I’ve got you covered. But hurry, they’ll be starting soon.”

The bathroom is small, only two stalls and of course neither of them lock. I choose one and pee quickly with one hand keeping the door shut and one arm trying to balance my body so I didn’t have to sit on the nasty seat. There’s marker graffiti all over the red walls but it’s too dark to see the messages.  It’s ok though, because I don’t really care. I’m just digging for the nips in my purse so I can drink them fast and head back out to the show.

“Why am I so messy?” I wonder. I feel like pouring my entire purse on the floor so I can easily find the rum, but I know that’s a terrible idea in this dingy bar bathroom. Finally I find them. I have three. I decide to down two and save one for later. The first one burns my throat.

“She’s such a s**t,” I hear someone say outside of the stall. “She thinks she’s hot, but she’s not. That’s why he dumped her stupid a*s.”

As tempting as it is, I can’t listen in to the conversation. I have one more nip to deal with. The second goes down smoother than the first and I throw the bottles in the trash and head back out to my merch table.

The music has just begun and Sam, Trevor’s girl, sees me return and winks at me as she walks closer to the stage, leaving me alone, with a card table full of items that no one seems interested in, but I don’t care because the music is loud and I’m happy.

Even though the songs are new and Trevor’s voice doesn’t even come close, I’m brought back to a time I’ll never forget. I may not be able to sing like my mom but as soon as the loud vibrations fill my head, I know my mom is with me. I can hear her voice in my head.

Author's Note

It's not perfect. Every time I read it I correct it, so please be honest. I've got a goal in mind and your help can get me there.